


The Poems Of Danny Walker

by amyfortuna



Category: Pearl Harbor.
Genre: Flying, Gen, Heroism, Love, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-08
Updated: 2001-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:57:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It says in the novelization that Danny wrote poetry. Even includes part of one of his poems. When I saw this, I had to do a little "investigating." This collection of poetry contains all kinds of poems by Danny, from early childhood scribblings to ecstatic love poems. They are grouped by theme, since Danny wrote many poems on the same themes throughout his life. Enjoy the poems of Daniel Walker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poems Of Danny Walker

On Flying (age 10)

I touched the sky today.  
I don't know why.  
I felt birds sing,  
heard bells ring.  
I went up in the sky.  
I want to do this til I die.

On Flying (age 16)

I kissed you last evening.  
Dizzy. I felt my stomach flip  
and take a slow spin into a dive.  
Could we fly again tonight?

On Flying (age 22)

I kiss the wingtips of my plane  
for bringing me safe to ground.  
And you, I wish I could kiss you too,  
But I'm afraid I'd never come down.

They say that seasons change  
And I suppose it's true.  
But one thing's never changed --  
The way I'm loving you.

* * *

On Friendship (age 10)

A friend really cares,  
He shares,  
He lets you know he's there,  
He plays fair.

On Friendship (age 16)

So simple. Be a friend to me,  
it's all I ask.  
Teach and learn and grow and love,  
it's really quite easy.

Only a few fistfights  
and we learned to compromise.  
Didn't we?

On Friendship (age 22)

Oh, God!  
(And I catch my breath)  
You, me, all of us,  
and eternity embracing.  
(my fingers shake  
as I write this)  
Quiver into my soul  
the fatal words  
that you are dead,  
nail them to my heart.  
Because I don't --  
think I believe you.

* * *

On Love (age 10)

I love my dad  
even when he hits me  
And I love Rafe  
even when he's bossy.

On Love (age 16)

It feels like --  
Like a song.  
I hear it sough  
through the wheat.  
Like watching you walk away  
under the moonlight  
and feeling privileged  
just to hold you  
with my eyes.  
Like the stars dying  
over our midnight tryst,  
clouds and nothing else  
covering our bodies.

On Love (age 22)

It's more simple  
than I thought.  
An easy choice.  
A frisson of a  
whisper along my spine:  
_I love you so much  
I think I'm gonna die._

It's more beautiful  
than I thought.  
A joyous dance.  
A skittering light  
speeding through my soul:  
_I love you so much  
I can never grow old._

It's more real  
than I thought.  
A quiet conviction.  
A soaring yearning  
exploding in my heart:  
_I love you so much  
And we'll never part._

* * *

On Peace (age 10)

Inside of me  
there's a place I go  
a place I see  
belongs to me.

What is it?  
I don't know.

On Peace (age 16)

Life is too quick;  
we tumble through it  
like clowns in a circus.  
And yet,  
when I'm with you,  
everything goes still  
like a lake, silver tinted,  
reflecting the clouds --  
as I reflect your passion  
and turn it to peace.

On Peace (age 22)

(Some think this is the last poem he wrote. It was found  
in the breast pocket of his uniform after his death.)

Eternity slips out a long grey hand.  
Invites the embrace.  
A whisper of life sings through me.  
And for a moment,  
For a moment everything is right between us,  
For a moment there is no fear or pain.  
I let the love shine out,  
Let it dance across your face,  
And I know,  
I know,  
At last,  
The meaning of the words  
"Do not worry about tomorrow  
For tomorrow will take care of itself."  
I sink down slowly into peace,  
and love enfolds me.  
I embrace eternity.

* * *

On War (age 10)

Guns bang in the woods.  
I look into the sky,  
want to know  
where the fighting is.

On War (age 16)

"It is fitting and sweet  
to die for one's country."  
Horace said the words  
long ago, and here  
I echo them. On this  
July Fourth my eyes  
are wet with patriotic duty.  
I vow. I vow.  
If my country is ever in need,  
I vow to not be the last,  
I will not shrink from war.  
I will be the first in the sky,  
the first to defend my America,  
my home of the brave,  
my land of the free.

On War (age 22)

The times have broken me.  
I sit idle in my skin,  
while one I love  
follows his heart.  
Into battle. I gaze,  
fragile-feeling,  
after him as he leaves.  
Cold. I stand with both feet  
firmly anchored to the ground,  
to keep from running after him.  
Be safe, Rafe. Be safe.  
And my breath catches.

* * *

On Heroism (age 10)

Why is it that  
men can be heroes,  
come home,  
and the world  
forgets them?

Why?

On Heroism (age 16)

My mother was a hero.  
She loved my father,  
caught fragile in the winds  
of change that she  
could not control.  
And she died.  
I cannot remember my mother  
but every day I thank her.  
She lived,  
she loved,  
she died.  
She died a hero.

On Heroism (age 22)

We're all fragile,  
broken mortals whimpering  
our way through time.

We're all wounded,  
heartstruck warriors struggling  
our way through pain.

We're all shattered,  
aching souls yearning  
our way through life.

We're all heroes,  
women, men, living  
our way through war.


End file.
